Fair Play
by GHTlovesTHG
Summary: Peeta is taking aim, and he has his sights set on Katniss. Too bad he's the worst shot she's ever seen. Fluffy AU submission to PiP Round 3. Prompt: The Fair


_Disclaimer: I do not own any part of The Hunger Games trilogy, books or movie.  
_

This is the revised version of my submission for PiP Round 3, "The Fair" prompt. I held off on posting it so long because I wanted to pair it with a picture I drew and post them both at the end of summer, in fitting with the spirit of this little bit o'fluff.

As for the picture, if anyone wants to see a larger version than what the 'story cover' displays, it can be found on the Hunger Games art section of my tumblr(replace the asterisks with periods): ghtlovesthg*tumblr*com/images under 'Story Fanart.'

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**Fair Play**

_Peeta is taking aim, and he has his sights set on Katniss. Too bad he's the worst shot she's ever seen._

It was another blistering summer day at the District Fair. It wasn't even July and Katniss couldn't stand her crappy summer job. But Prim had been gushing about science camp to their mother for months (not that she'd received much of a response), and Katniss intended to send her next summer.

She just had to be able to afford it first. So, armed with her resume, she'd done the pathetic local circuit, hitting up every business she would realistically be able to walk to and from each day.

Katniss had hoped she wouldn't have to take this job. It had been a sure thing, for obvious reasons. When the weather turned warm, a plethora of menial jobs always opened up for the tired-out old fair.

It used to make twelve stops nationwide every summer. That was while the current owner was a functioning alcoholic. Haymitch had simplified his life since then. Now he was just an alcoholic.

One year from it's 75th anniversary as a traveling fair, Haymitch didn't bother to book the next season's venues. So it had stayed here, on its twelfth and last stop, drawing smaller crowds from surrounding towns all summer.

Katniss knew her skill set wasn't extensive by any means, but when she'd listed a proficiency in archery to bulk up her paltry high-schooler resume, she hadn't thought it would land her here.

She handed the mini rifle to the next sweaty youngster in line and pushed the button to start the cycling duck shapes that 'flew' past.

The kid didn't hit a single one. Sighing, she handed him a fluorescent green stuffed mouse. The consolation prizes for anyone misguided enough to attempt the game were so pathetic, Buttercup wouldn't even play with them.

She heard a cheerful steam whistle and looked out past the line of people patiently and not so patiently waiting to test their aim.

Gale chugged by, sitting on the locomotive of a brightly colored miniature train. A long line of carts stuffed with misbehaving children trailed behind her stoic, attractive friend. He looked miserable. The conductor's hat wasn't helping.

At least she didn't have _Gale's _job. Wily old Haymitch must have found out how many younger Hawthorne siblings there were and surmised the eldest was good with children, dooming Gale to the kiddy rides all summer. With a sympathetic wave in his direction, she turned to the next person in line. And inwardly groaned.

Peeta Mellark stood before her, looking pleasant and optimistic. It seemed he was here for his daily dosage of humiliation.

Katniss hadn't interacted with Peeta since they were five-year-old kindergartners in Miss Trinket's class, before he'd transferred to the private school across the lake. The only thing she could remember about him was that he brought in his father's delicious fruit bread to share with the class, and once he'd said he liked her red dress. Not exactly a lot to go on.

Which made her wonder why on earth he insisted on wasting his wages playing every day. He was terrible at it. Certainly he wasn't doing it for her company, as he had yet to say a single word to her. He always put enough money for one game on the counter, his cheeks pink, and then stared at the ground as she handed him his rifle.

She knew he remembered her. While their town housed the District Fair, a popular hangout for families in the surrounding area, the local population wasn't all _that _big.

And while she didn't really know him anymore, she had him pegged as a loser. Why else would he spend his breaks in line here, surrounded by whiny brats half his height? He was never accompanied by other park employees or friends.

Katniss watched him take aim and wildly miss every duck. The Audubon Society would be proud. Reaching into the bucket of stuffed mice, she pulled out his consolation prize. He had to have every color by now.

If he had any sort of dignity, he'd leave before receiving his pitiful prize, but he always stayed.

She wondered what he did with them all. He must have a veritable army of fake mice. Assuming he kept them, Katniss bet his room looked like a technicolor retelling of The Pied Piper of Hamelin.

She wondered if she should address him as Peeta Piper next time. It could get a reaction out of him. Of course, she didn't usually address him at all. What if he got offended?

As she dropped the orange toy in his hand, he took a deep breath as if to say something, met her gray stare…and promptly exhaled before shuffling off.

...

On Bastille Day, she took pity on him and told him to brace the rifle butt against his shoulder.

A week later, one of the ducks fluttered as it passed by, his shot almost grazing the edge of the cut-out.

By the time the mice had run out, she had started to notice things. Little things. Like freckles and sunburn, and how his blond curls had been bleached even lighter by the sun in the time since he'd started shooting. His right lateral incisor was slightly crooked, and the hair on his arms was just as light as his eyelashes.

He smelled delicious, like the fried dough he made all day in the stand at the entrance to the fair. Sometimes he had nasty looking burns from the hot oil.

Peeta would let kids cut him in line. One time, a little girl wouldn't stop crying after a boy stole the stuffed puppy she'd won. Peeta left his spot in line, promised her a free corn dog and cotton candy, then brought them all the way back to her from the stand he worked at.

Then there was the time he'd helped a kid who got sick all over himself from the aptly named Vomit Comet, walking him all the way to the nearest bathroom. Katniss would have just held her nose and pointed it out.

She handed him a pencil eraser in the shape of a banana, then lingered in front of him expectantly. He looked up at her with apprehensive eyes and parted lips before turning away. It was mid-August. Summer was nearly over.

He still hadn't hit any ducks. He had yet to say anything.

...

Katniss stared at the dark sky, wishing the glittering lights of the rides didn't obliterate the stars and the buzzing and pinging of arcade games didn't drown out the crickets. Fall was in the air and school had already started. It was Labor Day weekend and this was her last shift.

She looked around and knew she wouldn't miss this job. Even so, there was always something nostalgic about summer fairs, especially when they wound down at the end of the season.

She did some mental tallying in her head, calculating her last paycheck. She'd put a dent in the science camp fund. With the supplemental income from the job she'd just lined up after school at Sae's Diner, she felt sure Prim would be able to go next year.

She heard the Toddler Train whistle and grinned. She couldn't wait until she and Gale had officially left for the season so she could laugh at him about his job placement this summer.

She heard a sound, and turned to see that someone had approached her booth.

It was Peeta, here for one last game. She felt irrationally angry. Other girls who worked here said he was charming and sociable when she'd asked them. The descriptions of his outgoing personality were completely at odds with the silent treatment she'd received all summer. What the hell did he think was wrong with her?

She snatched up a rifle, but before she could shove it at him, he slid something besides the usual money onto the counter.

It was a plate of warm fried dough, fresh from the deep fryer. One side was sprinkled with powdered sugar, the other with cinnamon, and both met in the middle. She never could decide which preparation she liked best, so she always had all three.

She hadn't thought he'd ever noticed her when she occasionally went to the stand for lunch breaks.

"What's this for?" She demanded in a voice that sounded far too petulant to her ears.

"For you."

She narrowed her eyes. She wasn't sure what his game was, but she did love fried dough. Soon it would grow cold, the oil would congeal, and it would go to waste.

She edged the paper plate in her direction, eyeing him suspiciously. "Thanks."

She'd already taken a bite of the heavenly treat when she realized that fried dough was the messiest dessert at the fair and the last thing she wanted to eat in front of a watchful Peeta Mellark.

"You wanna play a round?" she asked as delicately as possible around her mouthful of dough, oil and sugar.

Peeta shook his head. With a determined glint in his eye, he fixed his gaze on her own.

He took his standard deep breath, and this time, he said something.

"Katniss Everdeen, will you go out with me?"

Katniss gasped in surprise at his unexpected words. Unfortunately, that was the worst possible move to make with a mouthful of powdered sugar, and her eyes teared as she fought to get her coughing under control.

Terribly embarrassed, she went on the defensive as soon as she recovered enough to respond.

"Why should I? You haven't spoken to me all summer!"

In response to her accusation, he blurted out,"Well I _wanted _to, it's just- you're so- you don't understand the effect you have!"

Well that didn't sound very complimentary at all. It sounded as though she went around frightening and intimidating people into silence.

She struggled to maintain her composure. Her tone grew icy, even as she held the plate bearing his fried offering in her hand.

"Did you want something? Like to play the game? I'm _working_."

"Fine. Sure," he muttered, placing some money on the table. His eyes were averted again, staring at the ground like they had been all summer. "One game, please."

She handed him a rifle, brushed the dusting of sugar from her coughing fit off the counter, and marched over to push the button.

Peeta was so upset, he missed the appearance of the first three ducks. By the time he'd noticed the game had started and raised the rifle, two more had gone by. He missed the next four, blinking back the disappointment that his one summer goal, working up the courage to talk to Katniss Everdeen, had been a complete failure.

That wasn't all. The topic of conversation he'd chosen had been his hope that they could go together, the hope had kept him afloat since the age of five. And now it was dashed because he'd been flustered, rubbed her the wrong way, and stuck his foot in it.

Three months hunched over a deep fryer in the blistering heat and countless stinging burns for nothing. He should have just stuck to icing cakes in his dad's air conditioned bakery.

He pulled the trigger in frustration and anger as the buzzer announced the final target's arrival.

Katniss stared at the bird silhouette, mouth agape. He'd hit it. He'd hit the tenth duck.

No one could hit the tenth duck. Not even her, not with that clumsy rifle. Her bow and arrows, sure, but they had a lot more control than the silly carnival guns.

The tenth duck was the game-ender, the jackpot shot. It moved five times as fast as the other targets, and was significantly lighter, so it would flutter unpredictably. Its whole purpose was to frustrate players so they'd keep coming back. Someone as poor at marksmanship as Peeta could live a thousand lifetimes and never expect to hit it.

She slowly turned to look at him. He looked as surprised as she did.

"Does this mean I win a panda?"

Katniss' stomach dropped. _No one _was supposed to win the giant pandas. They were higher quality stuffed animals and about ten times the size of the rest of the prizes. Haymitch claimed they were 'damned expensive' and warned all his 'games' employees not to go losing them to adept customers.

"I can't give you that," she mumbled, dazed.

"What do you mean? I just won it." he countered, frustration mounting.

"I'll lose my job!" She protested.

"Katniss, this is your last shift. You're _leaving _your job."

This was a good point, but she suspected she'd be back for more shifts next summer, and she didn't want to suffer the ignominious distinction of losing a giant panda in the last ten minutes of her final day for the year.

She tried a different tact. "You're not even a real customer, you work here."

His eyebrows furrowed in irritation. "My last shift ended an hour ago, and I paid to play the game. That makes me a customer. Hand over the bear."

Katniss shook her head back and forth, staring into his eyes. It wasn't just that it looked really bad to lose a panda to a former employee and the world's worst shot. It wasn't only that Gale would harp on about it for ages when he heard and Haymitch would never let her hear the end of it when she applied next year.

If she gave Peeta that panda, he would have no reason to come back. Although they were both leaving tonight, there had always been next summer. But not if he'd beaten the game and gotten the grand prize.

And she kind of wished she'd said yes to his invitation, instead of giving him a hard time.

The dubious expression he'd worn at her refusal slowly changed to one of amusement as Peeta recognized the opportunity provided.

"There's only one way you're getting away with not giving me my panda," he said, his voice hinting at playfulness.

"And what's that," she inquired, her heart thrilling in anticipation.

A smirk slowly spread across his face. "You have to go on a date with me."

Katniss pursed her lips, futilely trying to contain her smile. "I suppose if that's the _only _way, I have no choice."

"_And _you have to kiss me," he added with a full-fledged grin.

She could see that one, slightly crooked tooth. It was her favorite. She leaned down from the raised platform of her booth and braced her hands on the counter between them. Her dark braid slid over her shoulder, dangling in the night air as their lips met.

He kissed the remaining powdered sugar off her lips and she sighed in contentment. Working here would be a lot more enjoyable next year.

_fin  
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Silly, I know, but sweetly satisfying, I hope?

A tip of the hat to the hilarious Adventureland, which, with the dialogue regarding "giant-ass pandas" and the inadvisability of losing one to a customer, was the inspiration for this entire submission.

Gale's appearance was totally unexpected, but unavoidable once the image of him driving a tiny train of screaming youngsters about popped into my head. He can be so grim and serious at times that putting him into a completely ridiculous and irksome situation was irresistible, even though I have a great deal of respect for his character. My apologies, Mr. Hawthorne.


End file.
